The Simp’s Lament

Jeffrey Field
2 min readJan 25, 2024

In a world where homicidal maniacs live and thrive,
their tapestries hung
with reckless abandon;
in this world there exists a realm
beyond the ordinary,
a world where football
is no longer just a game,
but a dance of shadows and light.
A universe within,
defying the cannibalistic nature of time,
throwing glitchy shadows…
reality flickering at the edges.

Why all this bullshit?
This truthless parade.
a rampant vine,
entwining truth,
needing no nurture.

I admit it.
No bullshit. I am a simp.
No, not a simpleton.
A simp… nobody ever read to you like I did.

Zoomers in the house?
You know what I’m saying.

My parents,
life’s sculptors,
unwitting architects of flaws,
you inadvertently designed
the very foundations of my being.
self broken.
Lesson learned.

Living in a world craving sharp edges,
a dull knife yields no favors,
so I pack my suitcase
full of razor blades
and sling them at
those who need pruning.

A demon,
trapped in glass,
lurks in the corners,
a metaphor for the stories we tell,
a narrative about narratives,
a mirror reflecting its own image.

Life unfolds in a spectrum of horror.
At dawn, a curse is spoken,
an imprecation impregnating the quantum universe.
Amidst this, the strains of a wedding song echoes.
“Sit,” they said…
an invitation,
or perhaps a farewell
to a love never truly held
in a world where every story,
every voice,
matters in this
grand tapestry of existence.



Jeffrey Field

It ain't what you think. Former newsman, car salesman, teacher. Everything is Thou, if you so allow it. You can find some of it at